


try to read between the lines

by riccitikkitavi



Series: feel a little closer (the further i go) [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: brief mentions of character death/suicide, ricky is hoh, some actual main characters come up for a hot second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riccitikkitavi/pseuds/riccitikkitavi
Summary: Jeff can't help but worry about his cousin, Ricky. Even without the major distance between them—Nevada and South Carolina aren't exactly close—it sure does seem like the PSU exy team spends more time fighting fellow athletes than actually playing exy.Featuring some truly horrible text-speak, a roof-top garden that will Never Be Built, and the true hero of All For The Game.





	try to read between the lines

**Author's Note:**

> (the title's a joke about how i wrote about the most minor characters of each canon) 
> 
> ricky's hearing loss is based on that of a Real Person I Know, and i tried my best to research and portray it as accurately as possible while also keeping in mind how characters would feel about it. that being said, I Know Nothing About Anything and may have inadvertently written something Bad so...lmk

February 10th, 2006

**[Voicemail from Ricky Troy, 12:32 AM]**

_Uh, hey, Jeff. I know you’re probably in the air right now, but I’m—well, uh, I’m kinda freakin’ out, man. There’s, uh, well. I guess some asshole thought it’d be funny to call in, like, a bomb threat or something because there’s—well, I’m not really sure what’s happening but there’s cops everywhere and everything’s a mess and I just._

_You said—and your mom said, too, I guess—to talk to you if I started having doubts about Palmetto. And, um, there’s just, there’s just so much noise and I don’t even know if I’m even talking coherently but my fingers are like, pretty much numb and just. Fuck._

The message ends there, which is, well, pretty concerning, even if it wasn’t already the most panicked 3 am phone call Jeff’s ever been on the receiving end of, so he fumbles more than usual in his effort to quickly respond.

> **Jeff:** sry i missed ur call. im back hoem now so just lmk whats goin on whenevr u can  
>  **Jeff:** but dont take 2 long or i’ll sic mom on you

The twelve minutes he sits through anxiously waiting for a response feel closer to twelve years, but eventually, it comes.

> **Ricky:** Do you still watch college exy
> 
> **Jeff:** ...yea?
> 
> **Ricky:** Check the news  
>  **Ricky:** Apparently fans were so unhappy with the foxes harboring a fugitive  
>  **Ricky:** That someone reported a fucking meth lab in the tower
> 
> **Jeff:** wat. fugitive. plz explain
> 
> **Ricky:** Just check literally any sports news  
>  **Ricky:** You won’t believe it otherwise
> 
> **Jeff:** ...holy fuk 

His first season with the Aces, back when Jeff could’ve sworn management was about to send him to Reno anytime he made a mistake, the team physician directed him to a therapist who had stressed the importance of making long-term connections to feel at home. He focuses this on Ricky now, asking questions about the rooftop garden Ricky had asked a few professors about planning come spring, keeping the conversation going until Ricky has to get ready for morning practice—long enough to confirm that his cousin, though a little shaken, isn’t still considering dropping out of college over a freak incident. (Of course, it was a freak incident that had left Ricky deaf in one ear two years ago—so Jeff’s not about to underestimate the significance of a freak incident.)  

 

* * *

 

April 30th, 2006

> **Ricky:** Can’t skype tonight sorry
> 
> **Jeff:** i s2g if todd sexiled u agn im not above flying out theyre n kikin his butt
> 
> **Ricky:** Haha. Please don’t
> 
> **Jeff:** not evn joking
> 
> **Ricky:** Hey, quick question, did they like, forget to tell you your texts aren’t limited anymore?
> 
> **Jeff:** n yet heer u r tryna limit my art
> 
> **Ricky:** That’s not English
> 
> **Jeff:** fk off dik
> 
> **Ricky:** Hang on, roommate’s making noises at me, I’ll be right back
> 
> **Jeff:** wat i tht u culdnt skyp bc he was bangin  
>  **Jeff:** did u ly 2 me??? wtf dude  
>  **Jeff:** IM NOT MAD BUT GIVE ANSWERS OR FACE THE WRATH OF DEBBIE TROY
> 
> **Ricky:** I’m back and I didn’t lie, I omitted so don’t call your mom and I’ll explain  
>  **Ricky:** I didn’t want you to freak out. It’s super minor
> 
> **Jeff:** r u hurt i;ll cal the police rfn
> 
> **Ricky:** I’m barely even bruised, it just looks bad.  
>  **Ricky:** (Should I have used you should see the other guy?)
> 
> **Jeff:** OTHER GUY???  
>  **Jeff:** 1 im so proud 2 dont fite ppl i only do it cuz i dont got smartz 3 u kno i cnt not tell mom that rite
> 
> **Ricky:** Except you don’t have to because I wasn’t fighting anyone  
>  **Ricky:**  Davis was being stupid and some shit went down with the fightier exy guys. I pulled him out of it, got a hit aimed for someone else  
>  **Ricky:** So no involving Aunt Debbie?
> 
> **Jeff:** ...no debs

 

* * *

 

June 9th, 2006

 

“How’s soccer going?” Jeff asks, once greetings are out of the way and Skype finally gives in and lets audio and video work at the same time. Ricky had been nervous about—did NCAA soccer players call it preseason?—when they last spoke in person.

“I’m doing okay, I think. Coach wants to try me in center—which, well. You know. Uh, do you remember Jenna or whatever? The girl I mentioned around the end of spring semester?”

“Um, sorta?…Wait, shit, was she the exy striker who…?”

“Sorry?”

“Was she the striker who tried to kill herself?” Jeff repeats, trying not to over- or under-enunciate this time around.

“Yeah, exactly. So, get this: her replacement? Fucking five foot three.”

Jeff tries not to laugh, he really does, but the image is damn funny. “So—let me get this straight—the PSU exy team now has an average height lower than like, most Little League teams?”

Pixel Ricky nods his affirmation. “Not to mention, like, half the roster size.”  

“Good luck keeping that Class I status.” Jeff winces somewhat sympathetically. “Anyways—you excited for your, what was it, ‘Sustainable Landscaping and Design’ class?”

Pixel Ricky shrugs. “Eh, close enough. And yes, yes, I am, so you can quit your fuckin’ chirping.”

 

* * *

 

August 28th, 2006

 

“Swoops, what the—” Wheezy is cut off by Jeff slamming his hotel room door in the defenseman’s face. He doesn’t bother texting a warning; just sees that Skype says Ricky is online and hits call. The second his cousin’s image fills the window, Jeff starts talking.

“Holy shit, I just saw the news. What happened? Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah. He’s—he was—kind of a dick, so it’s not like—look, they’re making all athletes talk to the school shrink so I promise if I’ve like, internalized something, it’ll be addressed by a professional, but I feel pretty unaffected right now.”

Jeff’s pretty sure Ricky’s lying about feeling unaffected, if the resurgence of his tongue clicking is anything to go by. But he’s been working on not being pushy, so he tries to let that go and focus on something else.

“So—can the exy team even participate in the season now? Short yet another striker?”

Ricky scrunches up his face and makes a noise of disgust. “Can I just pretend I didn’t hear that?”

“Oh, shit, was that insensitive? I didn’t mean—” Jeff cuts off abruptly as he realizes, yeah, he kinda knew how it would sound before he asked it.

“No, it’s just,” Ricky sighs. “Ames may have said something about how all athletes are insensitive dickholes, and I may have told her you wouldn’t ask about the lineup, because literally every other athlete I’ve spoken to has.”

“You played yourself,” Jeff laughs. “Even our rookies know better than to assume sports players have any amount of emotional IQ.”

“See, the fact that you just said ‘emotional IQ’ means you should have known better than to ask about the lineup.”

Jeff opens his mouth to retort, but the hotel door clicks when Wheezy walks in (having finally found wherever he’d lost his key this time) and interrupts their conversation. Wheezy doesn’t look too happy, but, well, it’s not like it’s Jeff’s fault he didn’t have a key easily accessible when Jeff slammed the door in his face.

“Oh, good,” he tries. “You made it.”

Wheezy never seems to be mad for long, but he rolls his eyes and okay, so maybe Jeff is not quite out of the woods yet. “Anyways, as I was saying earlier, Swoops, what the actual fuck?”

“I’ll be right back,” he tells—or, well, tries to tell Ricky, but Wheezy has apparently decided not to be mad anymore, because he starts apologizing for interrupting their conversation at the same time, so Ricky ends up understanding nothing, based on the look on his face.

“Hey, hey, Wheezy?” Jeff cuts off his teammate probably somewhat rudely. “This is my cousin, Ricky. You know, with the hearing issues?”

Wheezy stares blankly for a second before understanding, and walking closer to the computer so Ricky can see his face, which, while not the ideal option of leaving them alone, Jeff is forced to acknowledge as a decent thing to do. “Hey, sorry man. For the interrupting thing and the talking thing.”

“Uh, it’s cool. You didn’t know. Uh, you don’t have to like, raise your voice too much if there’s no other noise.”

“Oh, do you have a hearing aid or something?”

“Uh, no, hearing aids wouldn’t do much for me,” Ricky says, launching into the blurb Jeff remembers helping him come up with—as quick and painless as possible. “I hear the same amount of sound as anyone else, but I have trouble distinguishing words from background noise.”

Wheezy seems to pretty much get the gist of it, with only a few follow up questions (“So, it’s like a brain thing instead of an ear thing?” “Yeah. Well, except my left ear. That one just doesn’t work.”) and eventually wanders off unprompted, leaving Jeff feeling a confusing mixture of gratitude and—well, and confusion.

“Right. That was—weird. So, uh, you get that garden stuff sorted out yet?”

“Don’t even talk to me about that,” Ricky groans. “I’ve sent so many fucking emails, I’ve probably gotten carpal tunnel from it.”

Jeff lets him complain a bit more before finishing off the conversation with a warning for Ricky: Debbie will be calling to mother the shit out of her nephew slash adopted child in the imminent future.

 

* * *

 

January 13th, 2007

 

The Skype application starts ringing just as Jeff’s about to go to turn off his laptop. He hits the green button before he even sees the caller (and subsequently fills with panic at the sight of Ricky’s name and profile pic.)

Jeff aims for a cautious, “what’s up?” when the call connects, but before he can even open his mouth Ricky is cursing his head off.

When he pauses for air, Jeff interrupts, tact be damned.

“Hi, okay, number one: what the fuck, number two: what happened?”

Ricky seems to realize that cursing wildly is a rather ineffective problem solving tactic, and begins explaining instead. “Bet you’ll never guess which PSU sport team’s rival’s fans fucking broke onto fucking campus. Fuck. They—”

He keeps talking, but Jeff can’t hear over what sounds like someone getting fucking shoved against the wall outside Ricky’s dorm room. “Uh, you might wanna check that out,” he says, pointing at the wall behind and to the left of him when Ricky catches on to his distraction and cuts off.

“Fuck. I’ll be right back,” he says, and props the main door open as he walks out into the hall.

Jeff can hear the outside noises more distinctly now—certainly well enough to recognize the sounds of a fight. A few seconds later, he hears his cousin’s voice cut in.

“Cool it. We’ve got enough trouble to deal with right now without your bullshit.”

“We’re good,” some guy responds, panting slightly.

There’s a momentary pause, and a second guy goes batshit, yelling incoherently. Guy number one responds, cool and equally incoherent, and Jeff finally realizes they’ve switched languages. Ricky steps in again when Guy 1 starts getting louder.

“Hey. Calm down, we said.”

Guys 1 and 2 do not, in fact, calm down. Jeff hears doors open and several new voices join in, all speaking what he’s pretty sure is German—based on the general amount of angriness and ch sounds. Eventually, someone cuts in in English—a girl this time.

“Thanks. We’ll keep an eye on them.”

Ricky shuffles back in looking thoroughly disgruntled a few moments later. “Goddamn exy players,” he mutters as he sits back down in front of Jeff.

“So...back to crazed fans?” Jeff prompts.

“They trashed our fucking cars. Paris—that junior on the hockey team you met last time you visited?—heard windows breaking and called the police around 3. Said he saw 4 or 5 cars leaving the lot, but no one caught them. Some people got lucky but—well, it’s barely even dinged compared to any of the exy team’s cars, but…well, I have to cancel my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

“Christ. Is insurance gonna cover it?” Jeff’s long-since accepted Ricky’s stubborn refusal to accept large gifts—he works on-campus in the short offseason to cover what his scholarship doesn’t. He definitely won’t let Jeff buy him a new car, no matter how much money his NHL salary brings in.

“I think so? I couldn’t call this morning with everyone else. But it sounds like most of the other people I’ve spoken to are gonna be covered.”

“Do you need help getting through phone automaton hell? I’m sure we’ve got people who—”

“No, I’ve already got emails from SAS—the girl who takes notes for me in my Humanities lecture heard and immediately offered to help, so she’s headed over here when her Mock Trial meeting ends.”  

“Oh, that’s good. It sounds like—”

“I’m sorry,” Ricky cuts him off, and Jeff belatedly remembers how overwhelmed he’d sounded when the call first connected. “I know I called to tell you but—can we please just talk about literally anything else?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Uh, did you make any progress on getting that garden installed?”

“I honest to god think ghosts are fucking with me or something. I’ve emailed like, every relevant professor on campus and they’re all on board but the permit forms keep getting denied?”

“Okay, weird.”

“I was complaining to Ames the other day, and her roommate—Joan, I think?—was all ‘They don’t want you to disrupt the main narrative.’ It’s the worst.”

“Kind of a weird thing to say to someone?”

“Eh, she’s kinda just a generally weird person. She also thinks JFK was the reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln, so, uh—”

Ricky breaks off into laughter, and Jeff, relieved by it, starts laughing, too. When he eventually hangs up, his sides are aching happily.

**Author's Note:**

> you can't prove andrew isn't out there somewhere, destroying every form ricky sends and breaking lots of mail related laws, ensuring his ability to make out with neil in peace.
> 
> a few years later, jeff meets a terrified kid who thinks he belongs far, far away from the desert, and kent will never understand jeff's Extreme Brotherly Instincts, but he'll accept them anyways.


End file.
